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- 最后跟贴：社会变化太快，心境也随之变化,偶尔回顾也是另有滋味最后发表：dandany	yekai819 2014-4-23 22:42	192516	dandany 2014-6-17 08:23
非类 (小说）最后跟贴：最后发表：时光雕刻中 ...2 3 4 5	xiaopangzi 2009-5-27 19:32	14410236	时光雕刻中 2014-6-15 01:18
读书版原创征文活动——我的系列小说/散文读后感活动之《红楼梦》最后跟贴：本帖最后由 zick 于 2014-6-13 12:35 编辑刚开始给俺闺女讲呢, 准备两年讲个大概, 唉小时候咋就没人给我讲呢, 若是读过, 也不致错投了理科最后发表：zick	ljc 2013-2-24 14:06	101700	zick 2014-6-13 13:12
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise(44)天堂之影最后跟贴：本帖最后由洋八路于 2014-6-12 16:03 编辑 Chapter 43 On 25th of February 1998, in Chengdu airport, Bing was seen off by a group of people, including Qiuyan and her parents, his parents, and Ming and her husband. Kai had planned to come but had to call it off a day before due to a university meeting he said too important for him to miss. He would first fly to Shanghai, then transfer to Melbourne. It was not all sadness like eleven years back when he was but an innocent, freshly fledged young bird, flying to a place that seemed even farther than Australia. At twenty-eight, he was now a mature, married man, taller than any of the beloved people around him. He was smiling, repeating the comforting words to his crying mother, who was the only one at present in tears, and who had always grumbled her disagreement with his idea of going abroad. Ming was a policewoman, with strong mind and bones, even her heart might have been hardened by her numerous exercises and battles in the street. And today, in her uniform, she was standing together with her husband, Gao Hui, the proprietor of a computer company, from whom Bing had borrowed most of the money for his Australian endeavour. From her face, Bing couldn’t trace the sort of weakness he remembered when she had had wept heartily at seeing him off on his first journey to Shanghai. His wife was talking to her mother as if carelessly, hiding her emotions well. They had thought she should go with him, but after considering the cost as well as the uncertainty of his adventurous nature, they decided he would go there first, and she would stay in Happy Mountain with her parents, spend her time studying English, until he had a clear idea of what living in Australia was all about before she would join him. So, after throwing the words, ‘Don’t worry, mum, don’t worry, all of you, I will call you as soon as I arrive in Australia,’ he waved and smiled to them and with his hand gestured a number of kisses to them, as if he was a soldier only returning to the regiment after winning many battles. His mother began to smile, but her smile was accompanied with more tears that she had to frequently brush away. So with his mother’s tears in his mind, and with Qiuyan’s pretending coolness, he didn’t enjoy his first flight experience as much as he had hoped. He knew he was forever a child in his mother’s regard, and he knew Qiuyan would miss him, wondering every day in his absence whether their marriage would be able to endure the separation until the time of their re-union. The night before he made love to her three times, in her easy tears and fervent limbs, in many of his whispers and promises, as if it was their last intimacy prior to the end of world. After three hours of flight, he landed in Shanghai Hongqiao Airport, where, at its domestic terminal, he had witnessed the life of his best friend disappearing around the corner. How could he have imagined then that eight years later he would come here again heading to another country? And where was Vivian at this moment? Sitting in the lounge room awaiting the next boarding, he did have some luxurious moments for reflecting on his past. However, the image of Vivian and his four years’ living experience in the city didn’t seem to be as vivid as they had been in many of his nostalgic moments back at Emei Mountain. It was as if the shortened distance had diluted rather than enhanced its intensity. At any rate, today he was just bypassing this place, leaving China for a country far, far away, where surely, more layers of substance would be imported to overwhelm the aged sediment in the bottle of his life. The flight attendants on the plane, in their one-coloured uniform, looked both serious and beautiful. They didn’t smile often, but they did have very nice and fine cheeks, and good teeth and pert noses. Any one of them seemed to be more attractive than his wife, or Vivian, or perhaps any other girls he had so far had a chance to behold. But, weren’t they just servants waiting on customers, delivering the food and cups in the same manner as in a restaurant? Then why did they appear far more superior and important than the passengers they were serving? Why did they have to be more charming than other types of servants in human society? For the moment in his curiosity as a first time plane passenger, he wouldn’t hesitate to assume that the collective beauty gathered in an aircraft served only to provoke the unnecessary desire of male passengers, make them unsatisfied with their own wives, drive them to earn money like an addict, like a swindler, like a corrupt official in order to assuage their desire. The female passengers would also suffer to no lesser extent, for in the presence of them, they might feel inferior, jealous, unhappy, piteous of their own not-as-good features and body line, worrying about their husbands’ potential infidelity. The only safe place for these beautiful servants ought to be the kindergarten, where the hearts of children are still innocent and able to enjoy the pure beauty without inflicting an unhealthy desire, as it certainly did to a vulnerable man like him. Now, these servants were demonstrating puppet-like safety measures. Their smiles looked genuine, their gestures well-conducted in time with the voice of the speaker, like school students doing the exercises broadcast over the radio between classes. There were many seats in the plane, much broader and deeper than the one that had carried him from Chengdu to Shanghai. He was sitting in the middle of six-seat row between two aisles. The whole carriage was just like a packed, big classroom. Chained by the seat belt, he didn’t have freedom, but his eyes were able to look about, peering through the little window at the dusky outside. There was a Chinese girl sitting close to the window. Frequently, she would take off her glasses and touched her eyes with her hand. Then he realized she was actually wiping away her tears, and he was sure she had a very emotional departing at the airport. Most of the passengers had a Chinese face, sad, blank and wooden, as if their hearts were still left in the airport. Some non-Chinese-faced people were talking in English, of which, to him, only words rather than sentences were comprehensible. Now and then, they were giving out free chuckles. Their faces were large, rough and ruddy, and carelessly happy. But their noses were just too long and strong, unnecessary and extravagant, how much air and oxygen did they really need? How much stuff would come out if they sneezed and blew? Now the plane had stabilized after taking off. He closed his eyes, and some of his Shanghai memories became more active and began to tease him. He wondered what Vivian was doing at this moment, whether she was right under the wings of the plane, whether the spirit of Kang was on the campus, in the dormitory, or still jumping in the basketball courts. And, yes, the watch, Vivian’s gift, must still be ticking in his luggage on the overhead storage. Last night, when he was packing his luggage, without Qiuyan’s notice he took it out from the corner inside his old case. He turned the delicate knob, and after a few rounds, it was ticking again, to his great joy and surprise. Indeed, after so many years, the watch was still functional. What a magic and cruel thing! A half thrill ran through him. He gave the watch a kiss and allowed Vivian’s face to flash a moment in his eyes, like an ember flickering its last life. Then he wound the watch to its maximum limit. The decision whether or not he should bring it with him to Australia was no longer difficult. Gently he stored it, together with his favourite books and photos, into the new case his wife had purchased for him. It would keep ticking for at least a couple of days before it was dead again. Then he felt very tired. He needed some rest and sleep. The sexual conduct with his wife last night must have consumed three quarters of his manhood, and the sexy female flight servants, restlessly shoving back and forth in the aisles, drained the rest. But his nap was soon interrupted by such a servant, who came over to deliver the supper. She asked him, very friendly though only gazing at his chin, ‘What do you want, the chicken or beef or…?’ and he looked up into her eyes, and answered ‘Beef’. In the minutes that followed he was absorbed with the first delicate and privileged food provided free, well, not free actually, by the air service. He was enjoying it very much, but not as much as a man sitting two seats away from him, as he noticed. The man, at his fifties, looking thin and healthy, had an impressive eating manner. His food was something like lasagne or soft pasta filled with a lot of sauce or cheese. Using the spoon that he applied horizontally, he scraped the food from the very top, layer by layer like water slowly levelling down, until he reached the very bottom. Each thin layer was completed neat and tidy, leaving no stains whatsoever around the box before he was ready to strip the next. In the end the whole box was so clean that it appeared even cleaner than a woman’s face. Bing observed that he was not really starving, he was just really, really appreciating the airplane-food, and managed to consume it with an ardour like an artist working on a piece of work. And, if his eating manoeuvre was not evident enough to prove such appreciation, then his calling the attendant for a second box was a double indicator. And indeed, he was finishing his second box precisely in the same manner, at the same speed, and with the same mental concentration. Glancing furtively and frequently at him, Bing’s own jaw was slowly dropping. The man must have had much flying experience. A new traveller like Bing couldn’t possibly have known that an extra meal could be asked for. After finishing his own share, Bing waited for the attendant to come over to collect the rubbish so that he could resume his nap. But for a long time she didn’t come, and when someone finally came, it was not her. He shut his eyes again, but found it hard to rest. In this craft, there was no rattling sound like in a train lulling one into sleep. The buzzing was constant, like that of a starving, giant mosquito. And all the time he had to strain his neck because of the weight of his head. It was true he was sitting in a nice seat, very comfortable to his lean buttocks, but he could not find a way to alleviate the stress on his neck. The design of the seat was very ridiculous. Sure it had a cushion supposed to support his head, and there was even a piece of soft paper with an advertisement stuck to it for the purpose. But how could he rest his head on it? Hooked and harshly bent over, it did nothing but oppose any such an attempt. Actually it was trying to rest on his head instead of the other way around. Therefore, for many hours, his efforts to sleep were futile due to the soreness of his neck. Then he had a better idea; he put down the tray and rested his head on his arms on it, like a student stealing slumber in a classroom. After how long he didn’t know, he awoke to detect the saliva trickling at the corner of his mouth, which was very good, for it meant he had had some quality sleep. Straightening up, he found people around him were all sleeping one way or another. The two foreign gentlemen - he meant the passengers without a Chinese face - impressed him the most. Sitting upright, their giant mouths were gaping upwards, in the same fashion as baby birds opening their beaks for drops of food, or as the men he remembered sleeping on the benches in Lu Xun Park. It amazed him that they were able to stick their heads back so comfortably well, against the law of gravity. For the rest of the journey, he could not do or think much else in the dull protracted hours in the chamber. Like others, he might unfasten the seat belt, go to the middle section, move and stretch his knuckle bones. Once, feeling a vague need to go to the toilet, he waited in the queue and at his turn, slid into the narrow folded door. The space was enough for him, but the flushing sound was so explosive, so frightening that he felt his heart was shocked out of his body. Then, curiously he began to wonder if the waste was sucked directly out and thrown into the sky. But well, it couldn’t be. It was unthinkable to imagine it was directly released to the sky, to be mixed up with the beautiful clouds, to make in part the sweet raindrops as well as the marvellous rainbow. However, from his belief that the train toilet did have the dirty behaviour along the railway, it was still possible the plane had a similar design, otherwise why were the toilets prohibited from use prior to landing? Well, so many man-made mysteries, in the air, and on the land! When the wheels of plane at last touched screeching on the concrete, he could almost hear a collective breath of relief from all passengers, a lucky relief they had indeed survived a trip of 7500 kilometres, high above the sea. And the travellers, with their awakening little spirits, began to fidget and fret about the seats and their precious belongings even before the plane stopped taxing. The way to the immigration counter was very long, but the flat escalator, and the shine and polish of the floor, and the colour and smiling posters on the wall, made his steps buoyant, exciting his soul to skip and swell. So this was Melbourne! So this was Australia, a country, a human society that must be very different from where he had expended the twenty eight years of his life. -- End of Chapter 43-- End of Part IV 最后发表：洋八路	洋八路 2014-6-12 16:47	0816	洋八路 2014-6-12 16:47
《四库全书》断想最后跟贴：方白发表于 2014-6-9 22:19 这世界太疯狂了，已经没办法让人静下心来读点书了。我们只能尽己所能，能读多少就多少吧。 ... 是啊… 光看帖 …都觉得时间不够呢… 最后发表：junlintianxia ...2	方白 2014-6-6 21:18	463407	junlintianxia 2014-6-12 11:42
悉尼有没有教书法，或者书法协会之类最后跟贴：有的，书法协会定期活动的。还有讲座。自己搜下吧。。最后发表：alyssa	davidguan 2014-6-10 16:21	11447	alyssa 2014-6-10 16:22
参加活动“介绍一本我读过的好书”——“用香水写作”林燕妮：《青春之葬》最后跟贴：这本书我十几年前读大学时看过，当时不知作者是谁，但印象很深，是觉得写的有些自恋的，现在想想女主角是不是可算是传说中的玛丽苏？:）我就记得女主和三个男人，一个是底层浪子，一个是留学时遇见的富家同学，什么都优秀可就是性无能，一个是性无能同学的弟弟，最后她选择嫁给性无能的那个了，所以叫青春之葬~~~但刚才去搜了下，发现网上的版本和我记忆中的不完全一样，前一半是一样的，但后面比我当时看的还多出一半来，没仔细看，不知后来女主怎样了哈最后发表：夕燃漪	静好如初 2011-8-20 21:55	215580	夕燃漪 2014-6-10 12:50
英文小说: A Shadow in Surfers Paradise(43) 天堂之影最后跟贴：洋八路发表于 2014-6-9 23:49 谢谢你的回复. 我目前的思路：原来如此。。爱情啊。。婚姻啊。。大家都是糊涂虫啊。。。。大概明白你的思路了。。是我没有读明白你的用意。。谢谢你的小说。。晚安。。最后发表：Gone	洋八路 2014-6-8 15:40	81709	Gone 2014-6-10 01:01
书最后跟贴：前两周在悉尼来着，错过了，可惜最后发表：locatelli	hedgehog 2014-6-7 19:20	21730	locatelli 2014-6-9 18:16
自学《三字经》最后跟贴：百读不厌的圣书. 全都忘光了. 最后发表：stmimi ...2	big_beast 2013-9-10 00:22	305721	stmimi 2014-6-7 11:18
优雅，是穿透岁月的美丽(转贴）最后跟贴：优雅女人，是内心优雅的女人。内心没有优雅的话，不能说是真正的优雅。优雅的女人一定具有一颗善良宽容的心。因为善良，她的眼底才会闪现温柔，她的表情才会柔和。因为大度，她真诚坦然，举止从容。她爱朋友，爱家人，爱自己心爱的人，明白什么是爱，什么是属于自己的，什么是不属于自己的。她有自己的生活目标，活的简单而有味道。在最失意的时候，不会堕落也不会放纵，只需从容的抬头微笑，就可将生活中的遗憾变成圆满。优雅女人心若芷萱，散发出无穷的芬芳，从内到外，悠远不绝。优雅女人，是有美丽内涵的女人。“腹有诗书气自华”，优雅女人更知道，内涵、修养与智慧是女人优雅不可缺少的养分，她是经常读书不断修身养性的女人，有学识，有才华，有不俗的谈吐。她会把喧嚣的时光梳理成荷塘月色般的淡然与恬谧，静守一份淡泊，从容在书香中美容，在文字里穿行，让灵魂芳香四溢，历久，而弥香。优雅女人，是有品位的女人。优雅女人懂得穿着打扮，懂得色彩搭配，懂得心灵与外形的协调。知道在什么样的场合穿什么样的衣服，即使忙的团团转也不蓬头垢面，即使仅穿一条长裤，一件宽大的白色衬衫，清新自然的妆容，高雅不俗的举止足以令那些打扮前卫的女子望尘莫及。优雅女人，是富有生活情趣的女人。她会把家庭布置得温馨而浪漫，宁可啜饮一杯清茶，欣赏一段音乐，捧一卷书，也不会去抽烟、买醉、“垒长城”。白日尘埃落定，她会在灯下捧卷而读，修复日渐粗粝的灵魂，使自己云清月朗，温润如玉。在冬日暖暖的午后或是夏日明媚的晨曦，听着舒缓轻柔的音乐，煎茶闻香，慢慢养心怡性，回归淡然与宁静。　优雅女人，不是琐碎的是非女人。她洞明凡尘，清心内收，不会加入东家长李家短的是非讨论。她看得透世事的芜杂，却愿意用简单对待复杂，她学不会饶舌，学不会刁难，她喜欢没坏心眼的人，喜欢享受生活中的一切美好，她懂得尊重，懂得感恩，她用对人生的宽容和不苛求，求得了内心的丰润宁静，活的简单而有味道。岁月，只会让优雅女人更加美丽。优雅女人知道：“一个人在30岁以前，是用加法生活的，就是不断地从这个世界上收集他所需要的东西，比如经验、情感、名誉等等。但是，物质的东西越多，人就越容易迷惑。30岁以后，就要开始学着用减法生活了，也就是要学会舍弃那些不是你心灵真正需要的东西。”她摒弃了张扬和浅薄，多了一份娴静之气，多了一份书卷之气。她不争不闹，淡看花开花落，用内心的智慧，把眉眼的沧桑和岁月郁积的霜雪，在满是皱纹的脸上绽放成笑意盈盈。优雅，是穿透岁月的美丽，是一个女人内在文化素养与外在表象的完美结合，包含着对生命逐渐老去的从容和淡定。那时，苍颜白发，更是她丰厚从容的优雅老去的享受。最后发表：sky20000	sky20000 2014-6-5 10:26	01116	sky20000 2014-6-5 10:26
这书能让你戒烟最后跟贴： daniello 发表于 2014-2-20 23:41 嘿嘿，承你贵言，戒烟成功了为什么要背叛革命啊？最后发表：cdfei ...2 3 4 5 6..8	daniello 2013-2-12 10:49	23115912	cdfei 2014-6-4 12:05
请問一下，大家有用過易淘有网站吗？最后跟贴：如题，想在里面買点书，不知道可不可靠，合算不？ www.etaoyo.com 最后发表：小鴨	小鴨 2014-6-1 00:45	01896	小鴨 2014-6-1 00:45
对算命有兴趣的可以看看《了凡四训》最后跟贴：看看最后发表：xuyue ...2 3 4	liyuefu 2010-10-10 22:32	1078808	xuyue 2014-5-31 17:19
ZT: 余华写的什么东西? (和菜头评<兄弟>) 最后跟贴：兄弟上很好，下隔了段时间出的，字里行间读得出社会舆论对余华创作的压力最后发表：zwbs88	东食西宿 2006-11-30 19:12	273720	zwbs88 2014-5-31 02:17
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise (42)天堂之影最后跟贴：真实的生活原型加写者加工的天分，是好小说的雏形。如果再有思想上的深刻，主题上的升华就是名著了吧。。我觉得你脑子的那个具体对象该是具备了你感兴趣的强烈的性格。。人物性格把握好了，无论场合如何变换，都会应对自如吧。。就像咬定青山不放松任尔东南西北风。。哈哈，我的想象。。我看的书少，更不会写。是这部小说的第一部分非常吸引我，才一直追着看。但愿没有给你增添麻烦。。最后发表：Gone	洋八路 2014-5-29 11:25	111529	Gone 2014-5-30 13:12
这里有东野圭吾的爱好者么? 说说你们最喜欢的作品吧~ (已更新) 最后跟贴：看完的感觉很奇怪，感觉书里描写的人很奇怪最后发表：冰壶 ...2	dogdogkun 2013-11-9 22:32	513886	冰壶 2014-5-29 17:10
小诗自娱（二）最后跟贴：方白发表于 2014-5-27 18:48 噢，恍然大悟了，原来这个鬼是鬼子啊。啊，我想说鬼见都愁，何况凡人，肯定失眠。最后发表：sesia	方白 2014-4-26 19:12	131600	sesia 2014-5-27 21:50
有人听《神医》么？最后跟贴： dootbear 发表于 2014-5-23 19:21 说什么的？作者是谁？网络文学吧。杜撰华佗后人--一个20岁的小神医在一家贵族大学和来自各大黑白之家的美女之间的牵扯。最后发表：Pwn	Pwn 2014-5-22 22:37	21288	Pwn 2014-5-26 11:16
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise(41)天堂之影最后跟贴：洋八路发表于 2014-5-24 09:53 我记起来了，对的，原来是有错误，171，后来改过来了。。如果纯粹是网络小说，有点错误不太要紧。。因 ... 你有这种心态真好。老实说，如果我是作者，我是非常希望读者有所反馈的，哪怕像我这样说话不着调。。既然做了就尽量做好。。这是对自己的交代。。加油。。最后发表：Gone	洋八路 2014-5-21 20:22	61840	Gone 2014-5-24 11:16
今天买了三本书最后跟贴： MathsOneOnOne 发表于 2014-5-23 22:51 道金斯还有一本God delusion也挺有意思 Head to Head - Dawkins on religion https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U0Xn60Zw03A 这个节目就是谈这本书的，今天看了这个视频，觉得挺有意思，那个主持人经常打断道金斯的回答，让我感觉怎么选了这么人当主持？最后发表：山东大姐	山东大姐 2014-5-23 19:02	131659	山东大姐 2014-5-24 01:54
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise(40)天堂之影最后跟贴：at the bleak foot of the Email Mountain. 昨天忘记说，这里是Emei吧。。最后发表：Gone	洋八路 2014-5-19 13:24	41475	Gone 2014-5-20 12:04
几部网络小说的读后感最后跟贴： nemobaby 发表于 2014-4-22 12:07 昨日连夜下载了唐七的《华胥引》，太喜欢了，看到夜里2点多。同感最后发表：yangguangmm ...2	月光绵绵 2014-4-20 05:34	514931	yangguangmm 2014-5-19 14:34
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise (39) 天堂之影最后跟贴：洋八路发表于 2014-5-17 14:06 说的很好。。有光就有影。。这本书也是有光（虽然这个希望读者自己去体会）-- 自然，亲情，田园，呼唤干 ... 谢谢你回复这么多，有好多光。。这么好的中文，为什么不用中文写呢。。再次感谢。。周末快乐。。打扰了。加油。。最后发表：Gone	洋八路 2014-5-16 10:56	182013	Gone 2014-5-17 21:53
twlight吓人吗？最后跟贴：500页的书，450页的废话。挺无聊的。最后发表：albyn333	月光绵绵 2014-5-10 00:48	51240	albyn333 2014-5-16 22:36
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise (37) 天堂之影最后跟贴：虞宅与美丽发表于 2014-5-16 12:23 其实我觉得那句话不一定是夸奖呐我也沒有覺得是:p 最后发表：blackswan	洋八路 2014-5-12 23:31	241999	blackswan 2014-5-16 13:26
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise (38) 天堂之影最后跟贴： Gone 发表于 2014-5-16 11:52 我们的风俗是上坟的物品不带回来的。祭祀的印象里是另一回事。。大概各地的习俗不一样。。我觉得老家和 ... 不知道不同性别的读者感觉如何...可能会有很大差距...而且要从头看到尾，我知道辛苦的，因为有太多的references... 最后发表：洋八路	洋八路 2014-5-15 15:47	71561	洋八路 2014-5-16 13:08
心中的家园－《巨流河》最后跟贴：最后发表：Micky2013	Micky2013 2014-5-12 15:39	41134	Micky2013 2014-5-15 10:46
余华第七天读后感最后跟贴：刚刚看完，感觉就是网络段子的重新组织。有点失望。最后发表：dtmr17	kawara 2013-6-15 00:57	191952	dtmr17 2014-5-15 09:25
今天是世界读书日，大家读书日快乐！最后跟贴： Chen3III 发表于 2014-4-23 23:41 关键是没心情。人太浮躁，静不下心来。电脑里几千本书，上TB的电影电视剧。就是想上新足迹。怎么破？ ... 天将降大任于斯人，必先灭其QQ，封其微博，删其微信，踢其出群，收其电脑，夺其手机，摔其ipad，断其wifi，剪其网线，砸其电视，抢其酒瓶……使其百无聊赖，然后，静坐、思过、锻炼、读书、明智、开悟、精进！最后发表：虞宅与美丽	静好如初 2014-4-23 23:35	121549	虞宅与美丽 2014-5-14 18:59
对别人的句子玩最后跟贴： SSW 发表于 2014-4-30 11:22 从一直接晋级三了，二去哪了冯唐说：不二！最后发表：虞宅与美丽	SSW 2014-4-30 02:09	31286	虞宅与美丽 2014-5-14 18:54
转帖：kindle资源大合集百度网盘最后跟贴：mark 最后发表：moody	zzfgg123 2014-1-11 16:02	183326	moody 2014-5-14 09:15
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise (36) 天堂之影最后跟贴：历历在目的毕业前夕。。最后发表：Gone	洋八路 2014-5-12 12:06	1860	Gone 2014-5-12 14:20
我迷茫了～～～～最后跟贴： Micky2013 发表于 2014-5-9 11:31 对的，陈廷敬，当过康熙的老师，主编过《康熙字典》，做过好几个部门的尚书，以清廉正直闻名。这本书还是可 ... 看了第一部分，顺治十五年，陈廷敬中了进士。陈非常有正义感，张汧（顺治三年进士）是投机取巧之辈。高士奇一出场就是负面角色。剩下得看完还需时日。包子店事件中，主席用过得桌子也被店家搬走留存。其实，溜须拍马得伎俩古已有之。清朝初年，顺治皇帝在内院用过得椅子被封存了，其再去得时候，犹豫中不敢坐在炕上，生怕连炕也被马屁精们封存了。最后发表：thecatinthehat	Micky2013 2014-5-8 12:36	91335	thecatinthehat 2014-5-10 14:39
【独乐乐不如众乐乐，分享上万本中外题材连环画】420G，不能保证长期有效！最后跟贴：此链接分享内容可能因为涉及侵权、色情、反动、低俗等信息，无法访问! 最后发表：tanglg	sssddt 2014-4-28 23:02	11265	tanglg 2014-5-9 22:00
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise(35)天堂之影最后跟贴：Chapter 35 It was about mid-afternoon when Bing came back from the airport. Supper was some hours away, and he didn’t know how and where to pass the time before that. It was Thursday; other students were still in the class. He had asked for leave to go to the airport. Other students had wanted to go as well, but Kang didn’t want too much of a sad scene on his departure, and had told Bing to pass on his message to them. So only Bing and Ms Tang had been to the airport. Walking along the Eastern Tiyu Hui Road, Bing didn’t feel good going back to his dorm. Wasn’t it a dreadful thing if he stayed in the room and looked at his friend’s empty bed? He then thought of going to the library, but he rejected the idea immediately. How could he possibly read a book at this hour? Then out of habit, Lu Xun Park came to his mind. Yes, I might just go there to pass the hours. So he moved towards the park, but only a little way beyond the campus gate, his steps began to slacken, for he was unsure of his destination again. Why going to the Park? Even if he chose a bench he had never sat upon, where no history of sadness had ever plagued, he couldn’t possibly feel any better than anywhere else. And to think the park was actually a graveyard, the place where the writer Lu Xun was buried! A pang of coldness seemed to seize his heart. He didn’t know why Lu Xun as a name should frighten him so much. Numerous times had he been there, he had never related the writer’s name to a fear he should avoid. So he returned and tracked back to the bridge, the smelly bridge. He walked slowly, and strange this time he didn’t notice its stink, though the water was as black as ever. And what was more, now under his pondering eyes, the water wasn’t even ugly; its curvy path of liquid that once or twice still reflected a glint of afternoon light appeared serene and beautiful. Even if there was sadness, it was the one of awe inspiring. Oh, wasn’t it just the dark blood flowing in one’s veins! He loitered there for a minute or two, before his sensation returned to normalcy. Dirt, filth and death, these words came back to him again. It was as if his faculties had been paralysed or distorted for just a little while, conjuring up a flash of fantasy. Away from the bridge, the thread of his shadowy thoughts went to the Huangpu River, the bund. Immediately it lit him up, and the more he thought about this new destination, the sounder and better it seemed to be. So, driven by the new light, he was trotting to the bus stop, as if he couldn’t wait to escape the acres of the university. Inside the bus, he felt much better. The bus was moving, lurching and shaking all the time. And the restless people were up and down in tumult; the noise, the Shanghai dialect, the smell of sweat, the smoke of smokers, the stern-faced inspector, the women and men and girls, their tight-wrapped arms and breasts and bulging bottoms, their gentle or flinging gestures, were emanating a kind of heat, a living temperature that seemed to warm and thaw his soul. By the time he got off the bus, and began to tramp along the solid pavement in the bund, he felt he was a live person, a person with a heart still beating, a person with a stomach still feeling hunger, a person with eyes still able to comprehend a reality. From a food stall, one of many around the place, he bought three tea-eggs, and began to eat like a hungry beggar who has just won some food from some kind-hearted people. After finishing all three, he felt his throat and chest were so stuffed that he was like a dumb person struggling to utter a word. With his fist he banged many times against his chest hoping to loosen the lump, but his chimpanzee-like gesture didn’t relieve him. In the end, he had to buy a can of Coke to wash it down. When three hours later he got off the bus back at the school, the air was dusky. Most students, with supper time past, had already gone to classroom for their evening study. So the street was nearly empty. He had a queer feeling that he had just visited the moon and come back to earth, and the familiar things were not as familiar, an age of time seemed to have intervened in a space of a few hours. Just over the threshold of entrance to his dormitory, a voice called him. He turned and saw Vivian coming to him. ‘Bing, where have you been?’ she asked. ‘Well…’ Bing muttered a syllable in a tight voice, clearing his throat, and for a while stood baffled by her question, by the unexpected appearance of a person whom he had known but whose essence seemed to have long melted in his memory. She said again, ‘I thought you would have come back from the airport long ago.’ ‘Oh, I went to other places after that,’ he said, gaining a little of the real light, yet still confused. ‘But why?’ ‘I called at your room and found you hadn’t come back, so I am waiting for you here.’ Obviously she didn’t get what his ‘why’ actually meant, ‘I mean why you are you waiting for me, is there anything …?’ ‘Well, no…’ she mumbled, her posture uneasy. ‘Can we have a walk?’ ‘Now?’ She looked at him strangely, as someone may look at a stranger, or at one mentally retarded. ‘Yes? ’ At last he got the point, ‘Okay then,’ and moved out again. She turned and followed behind him. From habit, he turned left towards the campus and Lu Xun Park, but then on the bridge, as if suddenly realizing something, he halted and turned and asked, ‘Where will we go?’ ‘Lu Xun Park?’ she said, her eyebrows wrinkled, obviously confused by his question. The mere mention of the park grudged him; he answered grimly, ‘No.’ Advancing a step further to come level to his side, she spoke harshly, as if she was offended, ‘Then, where?’ The same difficulty of where to go which had earlier disoriented him sat on him again. He stood there indecisive for a considerable time, fumbling hard for a choice that should be agreeable to this unexpected and purposeless ‘walk’ with her. And worse, in his own predicament, he had paid her no attention. At last, Vivian had run out of her patience, blurted out, ‘Then don’t worry…’ She walked away, taking the same path they had just taken. He was startled by her reaction, but only mildly, for looking at her back, his mind was clearer, and the stress that had come to bother him since her appearance, was lifted to part with her brisk departure. He walked very slowly back, in a solitude and desolation that seemed perfect for him, and for the world. However, approaching the gate, he was surprised to see her still lingering there. He paused a second, then kept moving forward. Nearing her, he caught her eyes, her pair of pupils that seemed to speak of an emotion he thought he had been familiar with. Slightly touched, he didn’t enter the gate; instead, he walked further down the road, a road he had scarcely walked before, because it didn’t lead to the campus, nor the park, nor any specific place worth visiting. She followed him tacitly. He heard her steps behind him. Then he slowed down, and without turning, he was waiting for her. Then she touched his hand; he flinched, feeling a quiver at his heart. It was a strange, poignant and somewhat ugly feeling that her fingers should such touch his. It was kind of stained, alienated intimacy. Realizing her hand was still in his, he was inclined to withdraw and remove it from him. But she retained her clasp, not soft, not forceful, only persuasive. They walked steadily like this, for a long distance, and between them, no audible communication occurred. Then, as the temperature of her hand grew more and more evident in his palm, he mumbled, ‘Vivian…’ not knowing what to say the next. But his mere calling her name, first time since like an age before, stirred up something in his depth, that had long been crusted thick with wintry frost. He didn’t pause, but Vivian did. She turned herself to him, searched his eyes, and with her arms she first held his neck, then up to cup his cheeks, like a mother does to a dying baby. His hands, rigid and cold as they still were, went subconsciously to her abundant hair, where his fingers could dive and weave. They looked at each other. He didn’t kiss her, nor she kiss him, but they both cried, tears streaming on her face, encouraging him to wipe them dry. She then leaned her face upon his chest, sobbing, her soft breasts quivering against his ribs. Then the crying face of his sister at his departure from his village three years before flashed into his mind, prompting him to check the one in his embrace. He raised her face to him, and gazed at it in a wonder as if she was an alien blundering into his life. In his perusal, the face was part of a stranger, part of a sister, part of a lover; and the love or hate, the pride or humility, the shadow or paradise, were all merging to the well of tears. At length, when both of them had reached the peak of their emotion, he said to her: ‘Don’t worry, Vivian, I shall be fine.’ --End of Chapter 35-- 最后发表：洋八路	洋八路 2014-5-8 21:40	0973	洋八路 2014-5-8 21:40
莫言的三篇新作最后跟贴：一个人，风尘仆仆地活在这个世界上，要为喜欢自己的人而活着。最后发表：aladdin_lamp	jafe 2014-5-3 07:51	41192	aladdin_lamp 2014-5-8 17:57
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise (30) 天堂之影最后跟贴：楼主太有才了最后发表：雄鹰展翅	洋八路 2014-5-1 21:22	21352	雄鹰展翅 2014-5-7 00:44
陈谦的何以言爱最后跟贴：牵黄擎苍发表于 2014-5-6 08:57 和写“覆水”的是同一个人吗是的，挺好看的。最后发表：月光绵绵	月光绵绵 2014-4-21 14:08	21372	月光绵绵 2014-5-6 22:22
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise(34)天堂之影最后跟贴：Chapter 34 The next morning, among the faint noises of little sparrows, he awoke from a sleep or a death, looking at the grey hollowness of the Shanghai sky. If he still had some illusion about her yesterday, now he knew he had certainly lost her complete. He was a hand bag she had once carried, and perhaps cared and wanted for a while, and then, without mercy, discarded. Feeling too weak to attend the class, he wandered about the park, staring at some old, spine-bent people doing their life-lasting Qigong exercise, as if it was a pleasant thing living in such a senile condition. Human beings, a special class of animal created by some odd and illogic nature, desired so much to live, to perpetuate their meagre breath, yet like all the creatures on the earth they still have sooner or later to die. Oh, what a piteous, helpless life! In the mid-morning, he reached his room. He climbed onto his bed, closed the tent tight, lay himself down, pulled the quilt over him, over his head, and thus safely wrapped up, he continued to consume his sorrow with little air and temperature circulating his half-wasted body. He heard Kang calling his name; the voice was unreal, more like in a dream. Turning over, he found Kang’s face so close to him. ‘What is wrong? Are you sick?’ Bing smiled a smile with the shadow of a cry. ‘No, I am all right.’ ‘Where did you stay last night?’ Kang pursued, ‘you were still not in the bed when I got up this morning.’ ‘I stayed in my country-fellow’s,’ he lied hastily, finding it hard to bear Kang’s look of so much concern. ‘Then why didn’t you attend the class?’ Bing didn’t reply to him; he couldn’t, for at this moment a sudden rush of tears made him incapable of words. Kang was startled. Bing turned away, as if he had to hide his emotions in the presence of his friend. He felt Kang pat once on his shoulder, and heard him sitting down on his own bed. The following silence was then broken by the rustles of other roommates who had also come back from the afternoon class. Restoring his composure and knowing Kang was still in the room, Bing turned and said to him, ‘Kang, I am all right, you go to your basketball training.’ ‘No, I am not going today.’ ‘Why? I am fine,’ he smiled, still with an effort, ‘I am okay.’ ‘No, not because of you,’ Kang said, ‘I feel my leg muscle aching.’ ‘Do you? You must have strained yourself.’ ‘Yes, I believe so. Well, not a big deal, we all feel sore from time to time, depending on the intensity of training.’ By this time, Bing had already sat up. ‘Then we can go for a drink this evening?’ Kang smiled, like a morning sun, ‘Yes, you deserve it, don’t you?’ A sort of sudden joy, strange and incredible under the circumstances, affected Bing’s mood, as quickly as those tears had set upon him a while earlier. He nearly jumped out of his bed, for the first time in the day feeling the rattle in his stomach, realizing he had not taken any food or water since the day broke. After doing his washing, they went out to the restaurant they used to go in Sichuan Bei Road, where Bing was able to allay much of the malicious energy incited by the incident the evening before. Bing simply reported that Vivian was seen walking with another guy, and talked in a light-hearted, careless air, supported and disguised by three bottles of beer. And from that day onwards, Vivian seemed to have become a stranger, a new composition associated with certain dirt and disgust in his mind. Every time he saw her hopping about in the classroom or in the playground, and when his old love threatened to revisit and touch him, the horrific image of her doing it with the man would emerge in time to suppress it. Largely he had been successful, and as time went on, she had withered dead in his heart, or, if not dead completely, was buried deep in the ashes of his perished love. She was neither a friend nor a fiend, no longer a person to whom he should spare his attention or shed his emotion. She was nobody but one who happened to sit in the same class, listening to the same set of droning teachers. No matter how ostentatiously she flourished her hair and gestures, was no longer his concern. When the new students’ welcoming party was held again in September 1990, she asked him to perform his guitar. He performed for the sake of performance, nothing to do with her, no emotion was expended for her like before; he would have done it all the same should the request have been raised by any other classmates. Besides his guitar playing and book reading, he was now also able to spend more time with Kang, who had to cancel his training more often because of his sore muscles, even if, twice or more a week, Kang would go out with his girlfriend. Lat one afternoon, finding Kang in the room, Bing asked, ‘You’re not going to training again?’ ‘Not today, I may need a long period of rest, to recover the normal functioning of my legs.’ ‘What does your trainer say?’ ‘He thinks the same; I may have worked too hard.’ So for a couple of weeks, Kang had stopped his training, but the pain persisted, so he went to the medical centre of the university, and he was advised to see a specialist in a hospital. Becoming a bit serious, on the next Saturday, Bing accompanied him to Shanghai First People’s Hospital. A number of checks were done, including the X-rays and other things they had never even thought of before. After he was finished, the doctor asked Kang to come back for the results the following weekend. But they didn’t wait until the weekend. Kang got a call from the hospital only the next day, the Sunday, asked him go to hospital immediately. They went. Bing was waiting worryingly outside on the bench. When Kang finally came out from the door, he sprang up towards him. ‘How is it?’ Kang didn’t reply not even look at him; he merely laid his hand on Bing’s shoulder as if he couldn’t stand by himself. Alarmed by the Kang’s paper-like face, by his scary silence and obliviousness, Bing shook him, lightly lest he could just fall over, ‘Kang, Kang, why, what is the matter!’ But Kang’s dull, unseeing eyes still looking ahead, afforded him no relief of urgency. It was not until they went out of the crowded corridor, leaning against the wall, that Kang, who had now come back to a quarter of himself, told him he had got cancer. It was bone cancer, in late stage, even the amputation of his leg wouldn’t save him, he said. The world seemed to Bing suddenly different, no sound, no sense, mechanical and darkening. As soon as they came back to school, Kang asked Bing to call Xiaodan, telling her that he wanted to talk to her. Bing went to find her, and on their way back to their room didn’t tell her of the real cause of the urgent visit. She went in, while the other roommates who by this time already knew of the shocking news came out of the room. Some time later, she came out, in tears. Bing entered the room, and Kang said, ‘I told her that was the last time she should see me.’ So it was not muscle pain, it was the bone around his knee of his left leg, about where Kang had started feeling pain half a year before. The doctor asked him to spend his time in hospital, to be better treated with various measures, to relieve his pain that was supposed to get worse and worse as days passed. The shock of the calamity was passed on to the teachers, other classmates, and his parents. A donation was initiated on the campus. Bing called his father for one thousand, explaining the purpose, ‘Borrow the money wherever from...’ Two days later, Kang moved into the hospital, and the day after, his father arrived in Shanghai to stay with him. When his father, kneeling at the bedstead, held Kang and cried as a broken man, Bing went and hold them both. One day, Bing said to him, ‘Kang, where do you want to see the most? I will try to make it, and accompany you.’ Kang smiled softly, ‘Thank you, Bing, but I just want to go home.’ ‘Then, I will accompany you home.’ Within six weeks, Kang had lost much of his hair and weight, supported by the ghastly-looking oxygen hose. According to the doctor’s estimate, he had two or three months more to live. He expressed his wish to go home, to save the trips of his mother and brothers and sister. So it was decided to transfer him to the hospital of his county in Heilongjiang province, sooner rather than later. A farewell date was set for his classmates and his teachers and his basketball team members and his other friends and fellows to see him for the last time. The classmates all arrived in the morning, waiting outside the hospital, and went into the ward in three smaller groups, one after another. Bing went in the second group, half numbed after seeing the tears and sobbing, especially of the girls in the first group. Kang, on the bed, was propped up by a pile of pillows. He wore a cap on his head, his face still had a square structure, but his brows and cheekbones were so much more prominent. Smiling, and, with his thin long fingers, he shook each hand reached over to him, calling the name of its owner, who, in their emotion, could mumble no words but his name, and now and again Kang had to pause to inhale the oxygen from the hose dangling beside him. At Bing’s turn, Kang lost his smile, and, looking at Bing for a long second, his large eyes started brimming with tears, and his breath grew heavier, panting, and wheezing. Kang’s hand was thin and bony, like a twig. ‘Kang…’ Bing’s voice was broken, he stooped and bent over, embracing Kang’s head on his chest… At last, with a kiss on Kang’s forehead, and a pressure in his shaky hand, and a steady look into his large eyes, he released him to the next in the queue. Later that day, when the others had left, he told Kang and his father that he would accompany them to their home. At first they didn’t agree, saying he should attend his classes, but later they were persuaded to accept his offer. However, the next day, the doctor suggested they take an airplane, instead of the lengthy train trip they had planned. So, due to the much higher cost – more than 300 Yuan one way, Bing didn’t insist on his entreaty. In his wheelchair, in the airport, during his last hours in Shanghai, Kang didn’t appear as sad as he had been in the hospital. Instead, he smiled more often. Bing knew he was thinking of his home, where his mother and brothers and sister, whom he had not seen during the ast three years, were waiting for him. The last look, the last turn of Kang’s head towards him, while standing at the gate seeing them off, was eternal. Bing stayed in the toilet and cried silently. -- End of Chapter 34 --- 最后发表：洋八路	洋八路 2014-5-5 23:20	01218	洋八路 2014-5-5 23:20

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